


Neighbors

by lipeviez



Series: My Fleurmione Week 2021.1 [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Attraction, Day 3: jealousy, Exhibitionism, F/F, FW2021.1, Fleurmione Week 2021.1, Jealousy, Romance, Sexual Tension, Tension, Voyeurism, Watching from a distance, fleurmioneweek, fleurmioneweek2021.1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-26 09:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30103674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipeviez/pseuds/lipeviez
Summary: Hermione’s flat has windows that face the windows of a flat in the building next door. This wouldn’t be a problem except for the fact that Hermione can’t stop watching her neighbor. Oh, and her neighbor might just like her watching.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Hermione Granger
Series: My Fleurmione Week 2021.1 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2211477
Comments: 72
Kudos: 207
Collections: Fleurmione Week 2021.1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Perpetual_Nonsense](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perpetual_Nonsense/gifts).



> I really tried to keep this short but alas, I have discovered that I am no good at keeping emotions out of it. I never can with these two, and so here we are with this two-shot lol. This story concludes my contributions to Fleurmione Week 2021.1. Only had time for three but I hope you enjoyed them. Thanks for reading.
> 
> Day 3: Jealousy

Chapter 1

Hermione Granger apparated into her flat just before dinnertime on a Friday night. A quick glance out her windows prompted a nervous pit to grow in her stomach. She’d been waiting for this all week. It was too soon to get worked up, though. She needed to eat.

Setting the kettle on the stove, she took the plate of leftover spaghetti out of the refrigerator and put it in the microwave to reheat, and then waited for the whistle and beep. She didn’t have to do it this way. She had magic. But it was comforting to do things like this without it. Magic was amazing but slowing down was better for releasing the day’s stresses.

Her phone rang, interrupting her thoughts. Sighing, Hermione let it go to the answering machine and recognized the voice right away. Ginny Weasley was her best friend and the only one of her magical friends who used the phone to contact her, not that she had any muggle friends. She’d gotten the phone because of her parents and it turned out Ginny enjoyed the immediacy of communicating that way. They’d first met at Hogwarts but back then her best friends had been Harry and Ron. As Ron’s younger sister, Hermione didn’t really get to know her until their later years but it was Ginny who encouraged her to socialize, to do more than just make sure Harry and Ron got their work done. After they graduated, it was Ginny who saw that she wasn’t happy at the Ministry of Magic and encouraged her to seek out a job related to her passions. That was how she ended up in publishing.

Over the years, Ginny refused to let their friendship slip through the cracks due to Hermione’s forgetfulness and negligence. The redhead often rang her, inviting her to family parties, or just out for drinks or dancing. And Hermione would go. There would be times when she would have a lot of fun, even hooking up with a beautiful girl now and then. Ginny was annoyingly proud of herself when that happened. When Hermione started a relationship with Pansy Parkinson, it was Ginny who stared down their circle of friends to be nice. And when Pansy left after a year of living together, it was Ginny who brought the firewhisky and let her cry it out. Ginny was the best. She would walk through fire for that feisty redhead.

But not tonight. Answering the call would have meant withstanding the cajoling and peer pressure her friend would throw at her in order to convince her to go out. And Hermione would push back by pointing out that she had already seen her friends last weekend at a party she’d thrown here at her flat. There was no pressing need to see them again so soon. Ginny would get suspicious and ask too many questions… It was just better to ignore the call. Tomorrow she would call Ginny back, maybe even make a Saturday night of it in consolation for blowing her off.

Her skin tingled with anticipation and no shortness of dread. She’d gotten used to that combination over the last few months. Wanting and not wanting at the same time. Wanting always seemed to win.

After she ate her dinner, she turned off the lights and sat on her couch to watch television while she waited for the real reason why she was staying in tonight.

*::::*

_~Three months earlier~_

Hermione liked to think her life was fairly average. Maybe even slightly above average if she was being generous. She ignored the fact that these assessments were mostly based on work rather than on her personal life. Because if she did that then her mind would go to her ex-girlfriend. Before that relationship crashed and burned, she thought her life was pretty much perfect. Average wasn’t bad, though. She told herself this every day, as often as she could. It was definitely better now compared to those early days after Pansy left.

Her job as an editor for a small publishing house kept her busy. She liked reading manuscripts, learning about the various histories of the magical world in faraway lands, or reading through new research treatises, or even the occasional fictional adventure that came across her desk. Her least favorite part of the job was dealing with temperamental authors who resented her attention to detail and her no-nonsense approach to fact-checking and requests for corrections. Her job was busy enough that she didn’t socialize much with others in the office, but that was okay. She had a nice group of friends who cared enough to insist she come out with them whenever they felt her penchant for getting lost in her books over weekends alone had gone on long enough. Her parents were alive and in good health. And she lived in a relatively nice fourth-floor flat in a well-maintained four-story building on a magical street hidden away from the muggle neighborhood surrounding it. Well, it _was_ nice if one discounted the fact that her living room and bedroom windows were not more than five meters from the windows of the flat in the building next door. When she moved in nearly two years ago, it was fortunate that the then-tenant kept their windows closed and their shades drawn at all times. She could not see into that flat and her neighbor hadn’t seemed interested in peeking out at hers. If they cared at all about fresh air, they had done so when she was not home.

Hermione liked to keep to a routine on her weekend mornings. Normally she would shuffle into her living room, walk left towards the windows and throw open her curtains. Her flat was on the side of the building, neither in the front nor the back, so the windows facing the other flat were her only source of natural light. For that reason, Hermione liked to keep her window curtains and blinds open to let in as much light as she could, and given that it was summertime and she had no air conditioner, she frequently left her windows open as well. After setting up her windows the way she wanted, she would go to her kitchen, get the kettle on, put some slices of bread in the toaster, and sit on her sofa to read a bit before breakfast.

Then one Saturday, she threw open the curtains in her living room only to discover something strange. There was a small vase of flowers on her neighbor’s windowsill. White roses. Hermione stared at these flowers as if she’d never seen anything like it before. It was a full two minutes later when she realized the window was wide open and the shade was up. All of the windows were like that. She could see into her neighbor’s flat. But instead of a lived-in look complete with furniture, the place was empty. Looking closer, empty was the wrong word. There were boxes. And furniture pieces off to the side. She pressed her forehead to the windowpane and looked to the right towards the street and saw the back of a moving truck. Someone was moving in.

Hermione stared for a minute longer before realizing that standing by the window in her pajamas and looking into her new neighbor’s flat was not very polite so she stepped back and proceeded with getting her morning tea and toast ready. Curious by nature, she frequently directed her gaze across the way to get a glimpse of whoever it was that was moving in. With the windows open, she could see that it was a one-bedroom flat just like hers. The layout wasn’t a perfect mirror image but the placing of the windows was very similar. Their bedroom windows faced each other and so did the windows of their living rooms.

There were hired movers getting everything in. It was strange seeing them carry in boxes without using magic but maybe that was a special request of her new neighbor. Just as she sat at her little table next to the kitchen, she saw a blonde woman. She couldn’t get a good look at her face while she flitted about the flat, and Hermione didn’t want to outright stare, but the brunette saw enough to know she was beautiful. Around her age, maybe a little older. With her was a man, probably her boyfriend. They laughed as they moved boxes around, putting away kitchen ware and all the other necessities. Even without a close look, Hermione liked what she saw. The woman appeared so graceful and carefree.

Eventually she stopped paying attention and got on with her day. Walking into her bedroom to get ready to shower, she noticed the woman in her own bedroom. That was when Hermione felt self-conscious and walked to her windows to close the blinds. The woman looked up at her and Hermione felt the blood drain from her face.

_Bloody hell._

Hermione gave a nervous wave then quickly flicked her wand and closed the blinds. She blinked hard several times and then nearly laughed at her blasted luck.

That hadn’t been just any blonde. Hermione recognized her as the Beauxbatons champion from the Triwizard Tournament during her fourth year at Hogwarts. Fleur Delacour. The one who, unbeknownst to the Frenchwoman, had helped Hermione realize she liked girls. It had been a sudden revelation thanks to the woman’s thrall, which later research told her only worked on those attracted to women.

Apparently there were two ways someone could feel a Veela thrall. One was the allure, the effects of which ranged from anywhere between mild attraction to mindless need depending on how strong-willed those affected were. Hermione had felt it back at Hogwarts when Fleur first arrived; it was a strange pull in her chest and she swooned. She literally swooned and couldn’t think of one thing to say when the girl had come over to her table for the bouillabaisse. Fortunately, she was able to get used to it and knew how to not let it affect her but it had been enough to get her thinking about her sexuality. And in paying more attention to Fleur that year, the young Veela became the first girl on whom she had ever formed a serious crush. The second way someone could feel the thrall was as an expression of the Veela’s desire in the middle of physical intimacy, and only if the Veela really liked her partner and wanted them to feel it. Alone in the girl’s dorm as she fumbled through tentative touches and self-exploration, Hermione would often dream of Fleur wanting her enough to show her this side of her thrall. The year wore on and Hermione grew into acceptance of who she was. Being written about constantly by one Rita Skeeter also helped her develop a thick skin and a greater appreciation of being true to one’s self. Eventually getting over the painful parts of her crush on Fleur, and coming out to her friends and family, Hermione’s last years at Hogwarts were happy ones. But she never forgot the Beauxbatons champion.

And now Fleur was here.

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

After the blonde moved in, Hermione took more caution in opening her curtains and blinds. She still wanted natural light but she was very self-conscious about being watched. There didn’t seem to be any recognition in the other woman’s face, not that there should be. It wasn’t as if a fifteen-year-old Hermione had the courage to do anything more than yearn from afar all those years ago. All she knew was that she wanted to avoid looking at Fleur as much as possible.

This effort lasted for about one week. When it didn’t seem like Fleur cared that her neighbor could see right into her flat, Hermione gradually allowed herself to watch.

The windows were large in Fleur’s living area and the blonde frequently kept her windows open when she was home so it was easy to see and hear from Hermione’s vantage point on her living room couch. But the brunette’s secret pleasure was the view from one of the two windows in her bedroom. The first window was one that she could look out of whenever she was lying on her bed. She had tested it out once. From her bed, she could see into the Frenchwoman’s bedroom if she sat up but not when she was lying down. The other window, her favorite, was the one she could see out of when she was using the comfortable loveseat she kept at the foot of her bed. Before Fleur moved in, she had liked reading on it with her legs up and her back lying against the arm rest, facing away from the window to allow the light to shine onto her reading material. When sitting with her back against the other arm rest, she could easily see into Fleur’s bedroom. Not much of her bed was visible but the area in front of her bed was, as well as the doorway that led to her living area.

Fleur’s bedroom windows had window seats and while on the phone (Hermione was pleased Fleur used a phone), if she wasn’t walking around her flat she would sometimes sit at the one directly opposite Hermione’s favorite bedroom window. The blonde would either look out her window down to the narrow alley below or towards the slight view of the street. They never seemed to catch each other’s eye, not since that weak wave she’d given when the Frenchwoman had moved in. The brunette was not sure if she was happy about this or not.

What Hermione was sure of was that the woman was captivating and that she was helpless in her need to keep watching her. She watched as she dressed, as she had her breakfast, as she danced and sang alone to whatever music she was listening to, and even as she sat on her living room couch and read Witch Weekly. Hermione told herself it was harmless, that she wasn’t really hurting anyone. It wasn’t as if she was spying with a set of binoculars. Occasional glances towards her neighbor were natural when Fleur kept her windows and shades open.

On mornings when Hermione left her own windows open, she would wake to hear snippets of conversations the woman had on the phone or during a firecall. She was surprised how easily sound carried over from Fleur’s flat into hers. Even soft conversations could be heard clear as day as long as Fleur was close enough to an open window. Fluent in French, Hermione would lie in bed, figuring out some of the details of the woman’s life from those chats. The Veela kept in frequent touch with her younger sister, Gabrielle, and her parents. It turned out Fleur had moved here for a job as a freelance curse-breaker.

Fleur kept late hours sometimes and went out of town on occasion. Most of it was work related but there were also dates, mostly on Friday and Saturday nights. Hermione could tell they were dates by either the excited conversations with her sister or the way she acted as she got ready for her evening. On those nights, the brunette would turn out the lights so she could watch unseen. She always made sure to close or avert her eyes during the delicate bits, not wanting to see Fleur’s nakedness without permission. Well aware that it was a strange line to draw given how much she watched and eavesdropped, Hermione still patted herself on the back for her self-control. In this way, she could tell herself she wasn’t a peeping tom, she was just curious about her neighbor’s life.

In the beginning, Hermione made peace with watching from afar and would smile and laugh at the romantic escapades of her neighbor, viewing it as living vicariously through her. She admired her free spirit and zest for life. Hermione also made it a game of watching Fleur’s body language, discerning whether the blonde was looking forward to the date or only mildly interested, telling herself she didn’t care one way or the other. If her chest tightened when Fleur’s interest appeared high, Hermione chalked it up to a bit of indigestion. On the infrequent occasion things took an intimate turn, like heavy making out or an escalation to bedroom activities, Hermione would discreetly close her windows and blinds, and ignore how her indigestion burned even hotter.

So what if she had begun glaring at the men who arrived to pick Fleur up? So what if she found every one of them lacking? She didn’t have feelings. None whatsoever. That teenage crush was long gone. And it wasn’t as if Hermione was a homebody. She still went out with her friends and went out on a few dates with people Ginny set her up with; she’d even gone home with one of them. Her love life might not be as exciting as Fleur’s but she thought she was doing all right.

But then, one night six weeks after she moved in, Fleur’s date was a woman. And Hermione’s indigestion turned into heartburn.

That night was very hot and Hermione lay in bed, fighting off insomnia and trying to stay cool by having her windows open. Fortunately, she lived on a relatively quiet street so the sounds of the city were not bothersome. Suddenly she could hear noises from across the way. Conversation and bumping into furniture. Fleur’s windows were open so she heard everything, and Hermione realized her neighbor brought the woman home with her. Her heart nearly hammered out of her chest when they proceeded to have very enthusiastic sex. Normally she would wave her wand to close the windows but for some unknown reason (liar) she decided to torture herself. Hermione choked with jealousy, her hands clawing into her sheets as the sounds of the two women grew louder, throwing a pillow over her face to drown them out but still choosing to leave her windows open. And then she was embarrassed by her own growing arousal. Her imagination ran wild over what Fleur was doing to her date. Jealousy made her wish she was the one with the Frenchwoman and another feeling urged her to sit up and watch. She wanted to see so badly, to view two gorgeous bodies wringing every ounce of pleasure out of each other. It was this urge that drove the need between her legs and she was so very tempted to touch, to participate from a distance. In the end, she had been able to resist both watching and touching herself, but only just.

The following morning, Hermione was in a bad mood, angry that Fleur hadn’t employed any charms to keep others from listening. She pouted for a week but in the end, it didn’t stop her from watching.

In addition to having to endure Fleur’s active social life, Hermione began to notice that her neighbor seemed to make more of a show in getting ready for work or for her dates. Walking closer to the windows while she was in her lingerie, pulling her dates further into the living room after they arrived to pick her up so that Hermione could see more details of what they looked like. Sometimes Fleur would glance in her direction and even though Hermione’s lights were off and the blinds only slightly open, Hermione would still quickly look away. Their eyes didn’t meet but she got the feeling she was being watched, too. It felt deliberate, like Fleur was riling up her jealousy on purpose.

It wasn’t always about riling her up, though. There would be some weekday evenings when Hermione would sit on her couch in the living room and watch Fleur sit on her own couch and while they never really directly looked at each other at the same time, sometimes Hermione would see the blonde smiling to herself and she would wonder if that smile was meant for her. When she would get ready for bed, Fleur would invariably do the same, often turning out her lights around the same time as Hermione.

Her earlier arguments that she was just curious were becoming flimsier with every day that passed. Hermione now looked at her recent, meager attempts at dating with vitriol. She hadn’t really tried with those women. That one-night stand had nothing to do with any suave efforts on Hermione’s part either; it had only happened because the other woman had not been put off by Hermione’s shyness and was very blunt about wanting to fuck her. Going home with her had been more about proving to herself that she had no attachment to Fleur than about actually wanting the other woman. Never mind the fact that it had been unsatisfying and she had felt empty afterwards. And never mind that she most certainly never brought anyone home to her own flat. Not wanting strangers to invade her space was what she told herself but deep down she knew she didn’t want Fleur to see her with anyone.

Rationally, the brunette knew she should put a stop to all of this. She was in too deep, watching too closely. Still, she persisted.

Hermione got home after a late night with friends and noticed that Fleur’s bedroom windows were wide open but her curtains were drawn closed. Not that Hermione could see in anyway because the lights were all off in the flat. Open windows should have been a warning, though. The last few times she’d seen them open, Hermione had kept her own bedroom windows closed in order to avoid hearing anything similar to what she’d heard that other night. But this night her flat felt like an oven, and she was a bit tipsy, so she opened both of her bedroom windows, and kept the blinds and curtains closed for privacy. The brunette prepared herself for bed. She washed her face and brushed her teeth, changed into a clean pair of pajama shorts and a thin t-shirt, then crawled into bed. She was just starting to doze when she heard a light moan.

Her breath caught in her throat. But after not hearing anything for a couple of minutes, she let her eyes drift closed. That’s when she heard it again, only louder. And it repeated fairly quickly. Hermione gulped, recognizing Fleur’s moans of pleasure. She closely listened for sounds of someone else but she could only hear Fleur. Which meant the blonde was alone. Alone and touching herself.

She slowly lifted her head and was tempted to spell the curtains and blinds open. But she decided not to and put her head back down on her pillow, listening. After a while the moans became more frequent, more desperate. Hermione’s heartbeat raced, her arousal burning her skin. She couldn’t resist this time and let her hands move over her breasts in time with the woman’s noises. Hermione pinched and kneaded, picturing Fleur’s hands on her, imagining herself licking a trail down the woman’s body. Her hand slipped underneath her shorts and she dipped her fingers into her wetness. She was more than ready, throbbing with so much desire she wondered if she might finish before Fleur did. But instead of continuing, she pulled her hand away and squeezed her eyes shut, summoning all of her willpower to stop. As much as she wanted this, it didn’t feel right. And a part of her wondered if Fleur was doing this on purpose. Was she thinking of anyone in particular? Was she thinking of her? Would she be calling out her name? Fleur’s sounds got louder but Hermione didn’t hear her finish because she grabbed her wand and spelled her windows shut.

Hermione felt pathetic. She longed for this woman; she wanted to approach her. But she was painfully shy, and Fleur only seemed to have an interest in casual dating. Not one of the people she went out with managed to convince Fleur to date them exclusively. She reminded herself of one particular conversation with Gabrielle that she’d overheard a couple of weeks ago. Her sister had asked when she would settle down and Fleur laughed it off. Hermione had been lying on her living room couch and reading a book, occasionally peeking over it to glance at a pacing Fleur by her window, and she caught a wistful look on the woman’s face after her laugh. A look that contrasted with the devil-may-care attitude she was giving her sister over the phone. Then that wistful look was directed towards Hermione’s flat but disappeared when she noticed Hermione watching. Fleur quickly turned away and launched into a tirade against their parents’ expectations for her future in the Delacour clan, and she wanted to have as much fun as she could before those obligations could no longer be avoided. With every word she’d heard spoken that day, her idle daydreams that Fleur would miraculously discover a deep, abiding love for her book-loving neighbor faded into hopeless fantasy.

It was clear now why her heart hadn’t been in any of those dates Ginny set her up with. She’d been holding herself back. Waiting for something that would never happen. Obsessed with an unattainable woman.

Resolving to throw aside routine and take advantage of other opportunities that she’d been missing, Hermione decided to throw a party.

The following weekend, surrounded by friends and acquaintances, a drunk Hermione with Lavender Brown on her lap was laughing at a story Ginny was sharing about a failed date Ron had recently gone on. Harry and Ron were both wasted by this point and let Ginny have the floor, guffawing at the part where Ron had slapped the poor witch’s back a little too hard during the appetizer portion of the meal, mistakenly thinking she was choking, only to cause her to actually start choking on the bit of stuffed mushroom that had been in her mouth. Needless to say, Ron went home alone after that.

Hermione’s night seemed to be going well so far. She had actually gone out with Lavender once but didn’t see much point in pursuing anything at the time. The date hadn’t been terrible, she just hadn’t been interested. Lavender didn’t seem to take the prior rejection to heart, if her actions tonight said anything. The woman flirted and frequently found excuses to touch Hermione’s arm. For once, Hermione liked the attention and didn’t try to escape it. So, when she sat down, she thought nothing of it when Lavender _lost her balance_ and fell onto her lap. Her arms wrapped around the girl’s waist and pulled her into a more comfortable position.

As she chatted with her friends and Lavender, every now and then Hermione glanced over to Fleur’s flat. At the beginning of the party, she’d noticed the blonde making herself dinner. She seemed subdued and stiff. Harry and Ron commented on recognizing the woman, and Hermione reminded them about Fleur Delacour, Beauxbatons champion. There was some surprise and nostalgia for the tournament year, but attentions soon drifted away from her neighbor and onto whatever stories about work and life her friends wanted to share. When Hermione checked in later, she saw that the windows and curtains were still open but that all of the lights were off. There was no sign of Fleur so she figured the woman was out for the night. The flat seemed unnaturally dark, though; she should be able to see more of the inside given all the lights of her own flat were on and brightly shining. Instead, she couldn’t see more than a meter inside the window, the rest a pitch black. Ignoring it, she tried to focus on the party.

With Lavender still on her lap, she got frustrated with herself for thinking of Fleur at all. She also didn’t like this feeling she got every time she looked out the window, like she was being watched. Hermione looked up at the girl in her arms and tried to smile. In response, Lavender gave her a light peck on the lips. Another glance into the dark flat across the way and she thought she saw two pinpoints of silver, like a flash of glowing eyes, but for only a second. It made her uneasy. Turning back to Lavender, she could see the offer in her expression, that this could be more tonight if she wanted it, but before she knew it she was blushing and gently maneuvering Lavender to sit beside her. Hermione made up an excuse about checking the supply of wine and left the girl behind. That was the end of that.

About an hour later, the party was over. Hermione made a small dent in the clean-up and then decided to save it for the following morning. She brought out her wand to close her windows but before a spell could be cast, she saw Fleur’s windows magically shut, the shades pulling themselves down. It happened so fast, almost violently, Hermione would swear it had been done in a huff.

_Interesting._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Hermione woke up the following morning to the grating ring of her telephone. Groggily reaching for the handset on her nightstand, she answered and grunted a hello.

“’Mione!” yelled Ginny. “Get up, time for an early lunch over at the Three Broomsticks.”

“Gin, I’m not going to Hogsmeade,” moaned Hermione, her head pounding. She hoped she still had some of that hangover potion in her cupboard. “Besides, I just saw you. Party last night, remember?”

“Yes, I do. And I remember poor Lav Lav wondering what she did after you gave her the brush off. You were in there, ‘Mione. What happened?”

“Nothing,” replied Hermione. She noticed she’d left her blinds open and she sat up. Fleur’s windows were still shut and the shades were down. Frowning, she threw off the blankets and moved to sit on the side of her bed. The resulting dizziness caused her to remain seated until it passed. “I didn’t really like her in that way and didn’t want to lead her on.”

“Don’t give me that. I know for a fact you’ve had your fair share of flings and hook-ups since that slag left.”

“Maybe I’m ready for more. And I’ve had nice dates, too,” argued Hermione.

“Wonderful women I set you up with, I might add. You reap so many benefits of my being a professional Quidditch player,” Ginny sighed. “Your recent pickiness, though… wait, are you seeing someone? You dirty bitch, spill! Is she cute? I thought you loved me, you cheat you.”

Hermione snorted. “No, not seeing anyone. Look, my head hurts and I’ve got to clean up –“

“You have a wand, Hermione Granger!” interrupted Ginny in a sing-song voice.

“And I’ve got some work to catch up on. Not everyone can drink their Saturdays away, Ginevra Weasley.”

“Fine. Make me waste my break in training without you. Wish me luck on finding a dark-haired, green-eyed man who drives me wild with his soft self. Oh wait, Harry will be there, too.”

Hermione laughed. “Bye, Ginny. Talk to you later.” They hung up and the brunette groaned as she stood up.

Slowly, Hermione got on with her day. On any other weekend, she would have gladly met up with her friends in Hogsmeade. Downing the last of her hangover potion, and using some quick spellwork, it didn’t take long at all for her to fix up her flat and her queasiness; she had plenty of time to head out to see them. But something happened last night. Something she wanted to think about at home alone.

Nibbling on her toast at her breakfast table, she frequently glanced over to Fleur’s flat. Everything was still closed up. It was so opposite of the norm that it spoke volumes. And it was those volumes which Hermione wanted to dissect.

She had always been an observant person; always noticing the details, always careful in her analysis of facts and the links between them. Hermione also enjoyed learning new things, and those observational skills were very useful in that respect.

So, it was only natural for Hermione to get caught up in watching and learning about her new neighbor, cataloguing characteristics and habits. What caught her off guard was how much she enjoyed the watching, how what she saw caused her attraction and reawakened crush to grow into more. She could see a private side of Fleur that no one else did. No one else saw how happy and relaxed she was after catching up with her sister. No one else saw the annoyance on her face after coming home from a bad date. No one else saw the pride on her face and the little dance she did when a particular dish turned out the way she liked. Or the exhaustion and damaged clothes she wore after a bad day at a recovery site for her job. Or how she wriggled her foot back and forth while reading a book she was enjoying. Or the care she took in watering her plants. And Fleur had _let her see_ these things.

Why had she let her see these things?

If there was one thing she knew it was that Fleur Delacour was a very capable witch, and being a curse-breaker meant she was well-versed in security measures to ensure privacy. There was also what she had observed back at Hogwarts. Hermione was ashamed to admit she’d started hanging out with Viktor Krum and went with him to the Yule Ball just so she would have excuses to be close to the champions, to be near Fleur, not that she did more than watch. A teenage Fleur had been incredibly private, and rarely socialized with anyone outside her Beauxbatons circle. Putting together all that she had learned from that school year and the last three months, it was actually shocking she’d seen as much as she did. The Frenchwoman hadn’t used any of her skills to keep a nosy neighbor from spying on her. There were also those instances that implied Fleur had wanted her to watch, although Hermione could never be sure of that at the time.

But now, with those closed windows, Hermione asked herself questions which lit new hope in her heart. Had Fleur gotten jealous last night? Did she not like seeing her with Lavender? Did Veela eyes shift to a silver glow in an angry or jealous state? Wanting to take this as a good sign, she cheerfully stayed in her flat the rest of the weekend waiting for Fleur to open her windows so she could finally make the leap and wave another hello, this time trying to start a conversation like she should have done when the blonde first moved in.

The windows didn’t open, however. On Monday morning as Hermione got ready for work, she hoped to see a change but there was still nothing. Maybe Fleur had to go out of town, she reasoned. Hermione knew that Fleur often left for days at a time. That idea was quashed the next day.

Hermione ordinarily apparated to and from work, or used the shared floo maintained by the building’s residents on the second floor. But it was a nice day so when work was done, she apparated to an alley by a coffee shop several blocks away from her building, got herself a small latte, and walked the rest of the way home. After moving through her street’s wards, she let herself enjoy the bustle of her small magical neighborhood. She loved it because many of the magical folk who lived there were young like her and blended in more easily with the non-magical area surrounding it; from their attire to their muggle electronics, even in their use of motor vehicles, although traffic was significantly lighter than in muggle areas. Hermione was lost in her musings as she approached the last intersection before her building which was on the other side of the street. Then a feeling crawled over her skin. It told her to turn her head, and she saw Fleur walking in her direction. Hermione’s stomach flipped, feeling the allure of her thrall like she had that first time when she was fifteen. Instead of swooning, she cleared her head. This was her chance. She bravely turned to smile and say hello. But Fleur’s features stayed stern and she briskly walked by, crossing the street against the light without acknowledging her existence. Stunned, Hermione slowly followed and watched her walk straight to her building and open the outer door. Before entering, Fleur hesitated, her momentum still carrying her forward but her head turned slightly towards the bookworm. They didn’t make eye contact but it was enough for Hermione to see the indecision, the small lip bite. All too soon Fleur’s expression hardened and she rushed inside. The windows stayed closed that evening, too.

Her hopes that they had been on the cusp of starting something were dashed, and she was indignant. She hadn’t done anything wrong. How many people had Hermione had to watch with the Veela? Taking her out, taking her to bed. The woman was being absolutely unfair.

If a small voice in the back of her mind tried to remind her about how she groused in jealousy for a week after hearing Fleur with that woman, it was conveniently ignored. And since she was in denial about her other reaction to what she’d heard that night, too, there was no point in thinking about that night at all.

Her anger festered for all of Wednesday at work. She grumbled and stormed around the offices, daring anyone to approach her. Fortunately for them, and for her job, no one did. The next day she was more subdued, more introspective over her feelings, thinking over missed chances when she could’ve struck up a conversation over an interesting book she’d spotted in Fleur’s hands, or just smiled at her.

She really missed seeing her.

When Hermione got home from work on Friday, Fleur’s windows were open again. The curtains were drawn closed but it was better than closed everything. She could at least hear the woman fluttering about in her flat. Hermione prepared her dinner, ignored the message Ginny left on her answering machine, then ate and watched television, and waited.

A couple of hours later, she heard music waft through the windows. Glancing over, her heart skipped a beat at seeing the open curtains. Fleur was in her living room with her hands up to one ear, putting on an earring. The woman was gorgeous, dressed to the nines in a skin tight, dark blue dress that went down to mid-thigh and had a halter style top. Her long hair was done up in a loose twist, giving Hermione a very revealing view of Fleur’s shoulders and back. The blonde’s face didn’t have the excitement it usually did when a date was coming but there was a hint of mischief. Hermione ached for her just the same.

It was even worse when the date showed up. It was a woman, the same woman she had heard Fleur with all those weeks ago. She was a sexy short-haired blonde, shorter than Fleur in height, with an equally tight, strapless black dress. And this time, Fleur took a long look in Hermione’s direction before pulling her date into a deep, wet kiss. Hermione gasped and felt a sick tightening in her chest. Before she could do anything, Fleur and the other woman left for their date.

Later that night, Hermione was in her bedroom wide awake but not in her bed. She did try to sleep but she couldn’t get her mind to settle down, not after what she’d seen. So, all the lights were out, she was in her pajamas, and she was currently propped up against the arm rest of her bedroom loveseat, staring at Fleur’s flat. The blonde’s bedroom windows were only slightly raised but her shades and curtains were completely open. Hermione’s earlier jealousy had receded enough to let her curiosity motivate her to slightly open her own windows, and she left the blinds down but sufficiently open in order for her to see out and hopefully not be obvious about her intent. She didn’t want to give Fleur the satisfaction. Ginny would have asked why wait up at all just to see her with someone else, and she asked herself that, too.

The simple answer was the kiss. That kiss before they left.

At first she thought it was a punishment for Lavender, and maybe that was part of it. But the more she thought about it, and the more she remembered Fleur’s gaze at her and her own body’s reaction, the more she realized the kiss had been an invitation.

It said ‘I know what you’ve been doing’. It said ‘keep watching’. It was a taste, a promise of more to come. And they had looked exquisite as their mouths joined. She had been sick with envy, true, but also so turned on that she was actually disappointed when it ended and they left.

Eventually, her patience paid off. Noises came from the other flat. Tinkling laughter. Her pulse jumped when she saw the silhouettes of Fleur and her date enter her bedroom. An arm waved and one of Fleur’s bedside lamps turned on. Hermione’s eyes narrowed, suspecting that the light was for her benefit. To make it easier for her to watch.

She was surprised when Fleur didn’t take the woman to her bed. Instead, she backed her date to the window seat, sitting her down in the window directly opposite the one Hermione was looking out of. With the way they were positioned, Hermione could see the date’s back and had a very good view of Fleur’s face and upper body. They were laughing breathlessly and then they were kissing. The jealousy that lanced through her didn’t make her disgusted with the display. This was because Fleur took her eyes away from her date long enough to send Hermione a glare. Despite sitting in the dark with the blinds only partially open, Fleur made eye contact like she could see every detail. It was an expectant look, a challenge, and Hermione understood it immediately.

Her heart beating out of her chest, Hermione picked her wand up off the bed and carefully wrote a glowing message in the air above her, then spun it around so Fleur could read it.

‘Would you stop if I asked you to?’

Fleur’s expression softened and she nodded. A warmth flooded through Hermione. She was safe, this experience was for the both of them. It may have started without a proper discussion but it was clear now that she had a say in what happened next. She thought back to the earlier kiss. She’d liked it, she’d liked watching. And that night when she’d heard the two women together, she could no longer deny she’d been aroused by it, and that part of her wished she’d been able to watch.

Hermione nervously waved away her message and slowly raised the blinds of her window. Fleur smiled in response. Oh, the blonde was definitely holding an arrogant air but Hermione could also see that she was genuinely pleased with the brunette’s daring. Her pulse continued to race as Fleur went back to kissing her date.

Hermione wanted to know what else Fleur would show her. She didn’t care about the jealousy that snaked its way under her skin. That emotion felt manageable now that she felt like she was participating. Fleur had made the connection, somehow she knew Hermione would like this. Just like she knew Hermione had watched her all those other nights on this very loveseat, watching her get ready to go out or get ready to sleep. She felt a blush rise up, wondering if Fleur thought she watched her in a state of undress, or when she took others to her bed. The blush took on a tinge of embarrassment at the thought that it was more likely that Fleur had known she never felt comfortable crossing that particular line. But there was no time to debate all the lines she did or didn’t cross when Fleur was certainly inviting her to cross them now.

After a couple of minutes of kissing, Hermione’s eyes zeroed in on Fleur’s hands which were moving down her date’s back. The Veela’s eyes opened, again looking out the window towards her. Hands glided down to the woman’s waist, then down to her thighs, Fleur making sure Hermione’s eyes followed them all the way down.

The shorter woman let out a breathy laugh then leaned forward to whisper something in Fleur’s ear. The taller woman grinned and nodded but Hermione had no idea what had been said. She could hear their light panting breaths but that whisper had been too soft to understand. The brunette frowned but Fleur’s smile widened, and then she gasped when her date began nipping down her throat.

The crinkle on Fleur’s brow was maddening. Hermione wanted to be the one causing it. She wanted to be the one who made the Veela throw her head back in pleasure.

As if the Frenchwoman could tell Hermione was getting caught up in her head instead of enjoying herself, her hands went to her date’s knees and to the bottom hem of the black dress. Fleur pushed the fabric up enough so that she could press in more closely in between her legs. Moving her mouth back to kissing, her hands caressed up and down the woman’s thighs.

Hermione became mesmerized by the movement and didn’t realize her own hands had moved to her thighs until she felt them begin to rub their way up to her stomach. Her body was too wound up, she needed more. She moved her hands up to her breasts.

Before she could do anything more than squeeze, Fleur’s eyes opened again and when she saw what Hermione was doing, she pulled back slightly and turned her head in a way which told Hermione to stop or else. The brunette stared back. She was breathing hard, frustrated, but it would be even worse if Fleur followed through with whatever her threat was here. Needing Fleur to continue, Hermione complied and dropped her hands, curling them into fists on her lap.

Smiling seductively, Fleur directed her attention back to the other woman. The two women’s movements got more heated, and Hermione licked her lips when she saw greedy hands reach up to the back of Fleur’s neck to undo the halter of her dress. She held her breath, eager to see the skin that she had always denied herself in the past. Then she exhaled in surprise when Fleur smoothly pulled down the woman’s hands to settle them on her spread thighs.

“Watch,” commanded Fleur, and she was undoubtedly speaking to the both of them.

The blonde began to caress her own breasts over her blue dress which caused the shorter blonde’s shoulders to rise up and down to match her quickening breath. It was intoxicating; the anticipation was building and Hermione knew the other woman was becoming impatient for Fleur to touch her again. When she finally did, her hands falling from her breasts and back to her date’s thighs, the woman grabbed Fleur’s shoulders and kissed her.

Fleur didn’t let the kiss last for very long before dropping her mouth to the shorter witch’s bare shoulder, biting, licking, her blue eyes glancing upwards to make sure Hermione was still watching. And she was. Hungrily. She drank in the scene in front of her. She watched slender hands drift to inner thighs and slide upwards. The black dress was pushed up even more, Fleur forcefully grinding against the woman’s core. Hermione’s breath hitched when Fleur reached for the back zipper of her date’s dress, unzipping and then pushing down the top of her dress enough to reveal a smooth back. Fleur gazed appreciatively at her date’s chest, and Hermione clenched her jaw.

When one hand went to palm the woman’s bare breast, Hermione unfurled the fists in her lap, deciding she was done playing by the Frenchwoman’s rules. As Fleur trailed kisses down the woman’s chest, Hermione’s hands slowly trailed up to her abdomen. But when one of Fleur’s hands dropped to between the woman’s legs, the bookworm forgot what she was intending to do and stopped breathing.

Jealousy and desire warred within Hermione. But the conflict she felt didn’t anger her, it only heightened the experience. The short-haired blonde was squirming against Fleur’s hand; Hermione knew she hadn’t entered her yet and it exasperated the shorter witch. Fleur was teasing her. Just as she was teasing the brunette.

Hermione was painfully aroused. The two women looked so beautiful together. Watching Fleur pleasure the other woman, working her up, advancing only when she was ready, retreating when her date got too demanding. Her control was breathtaking.

The shorter woman resorted to fondling her own breasts to seek the pressure Fleur wasn’t giving her cunt. Hermione was just as desperate for more pressure. Going back to her plan, she moved her hands up from her stomach to her breasts, rubbing over them lightly, feeling her hardened nipples through the thin cotton of her sleep shirt. She squeezed her breasts and then pinched her stiff peaks, then repeated the motions. It felt so good and she didn’t know why she had obeyed Fleur in the first place.

It seemed Fleur noticed Hermione was touching herself and paused again to give another warning. But this time Hermione didn’t stop and she grinned triumphantly. The Veela could threaten to not touch her little playmate all she wanted; it was Fleur’s turn to watch.

Hermione kept her eyes on Fleur as she kneaded her breasts and the heat between her legs grew hotter at the sight of a flushed Veela, those blue eyes darkening in lust. The brunette gave a coy smile, and in response, a flustered Fleur pushed into the other blonde a bit too forcefully, causing the woman’s head to fall back against the window with a loud grunt. A moan escaped Hermione’s lips at the same time. She pictured herself on that window seat, imagined Fleur’s mouth on her, imagined Fleur’s fingers inside her.

She couldn’t wait anymore and dragged one hand down to her pajama-clad thighs, spreading her legs and feeling her wetness soak into her panties. It excited her that Fleur was watching, paying more attention to her than the woman she was fucking. Hermione slipped her hand under the waistbands of her pajama shorts and panties, and slid through her folds. Merlin, she was wet. Pressing one finger inside, she moaned at the sensation.

Fleur groaned in response and lost her rhythm, much to the frustration of the other blonde. Then the Veela’s eyes flashed silver, her expression angry. The eyes were like the silver Hermione had seen after the party last weekend. Hermione bit her lip, her earlier suspicion about what the silver eyes meant was now confirmed. This knowledge made what was happening all the more delicious. She wasn’t the only one that had been affected by their proximity, by the constant sight of each other through nearby windows.

Hermione pulled her finger out to tease at her clit, circling gently. Fleur gradually found a new rhythm, one that matched with Hermione’s movements. She wasn’t going to last much longer and Fleur wasn’t even trying to look at her date anymore. The taller blonde pumped into the woman roughly but was enthralled by Hermione, their eyes locked on one another.

With her free hand, the brunette inserted two fingers this time, her other hand still circling her clit.

Was Fleur imagining the feel of Hermione’s cunt? Did Fleur want to know how wet she was for her?

In.

Fleur licked her lips.

Out.

Hermione’s eyelids fluttered; she struggled to keep them open.

Harder.

Fleur leaned forward.

Faster.

Hermione tensed. She was getting close.

Fleur stopped thrusting into the other woman but Hermione barely noticed and squeezed her eyes shut as she kept going. The only thing that mattered was how this felt. How it felt knowing Fleur was watching her. Just a little bit more…

Suddenly she heard laughter. Not Fleur’s laugh, but the other woman’s. Startled, Hermione ceased her movements and saw that they were both standing; the woman was fixing her dress.

“We had our fun but you are too distracted, Delacour. Time to be with who you really want.”

Hermione blinked. What did the woman mean?

The shorter witch kissed Fleur’s cheek, who looked more grateful than apologetic, then turned around and waved at Hermione, though this lasted for a second at most as Fleur had immediately turned the woman’s face away from her direction. The woman laughed again and apologized, then walked out of the bedroom and left the flat.

Hermione was dumbfounded and needed a minute to understand what just happened.

_The witch knew._

She felt another jolt of arousal knowing that Fleur’s date had been in on it the whole time. Hermione was glad that Fleur had gained her consent beforehand.

But now the woman was gone; it was just the two of them. She wondered what was going to happen next. Fleur was staring at her, her expression full of desire.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but before she could get a word out, the blonde walked away from the window. Confused, she watched her go into her bathroom, and a couple of minutes later her throat went dry when Fleur walked out completely naked, the woman’s hair loose and flowing down her shoulders.

Moving back to the window, the woman pressed a hand to the windowpane and asked, “Shall we continue?”

Hermione took a moment. This was the first time she’d seen Fleur like this and now that she had explicit permission, her brown eyes raked over every curve. She imagined touching her skin, memorizing every mark and line, how the muscles would move as Hermione pressed her down onto the bed. Any number of people could be seeing her from Hermione’s building, or from down in the alley between them, but Fleur didn’t seem to care about that. The woman only stared at her, her eyes dark and ravenous. And the brunette’s desire was set aflame at the need she saw there. She pulled off her shirt and pushed down her pajama shorts and underwear until she was naked on the loveseat.

She had never pleasured herself while someone else watched, not even with Pansy. Well, it was a night for firsts, and now that it was just the two of them, Hermione felt something settle inside of her. Unexpectedly, everything that happened tonight had actually been liberating. She felt more like herself than she ever had before. More sensual and more powerful.

Fleur’s gaze was giving her this. Her want, her desire. Hermione wanted to show her what that did to her. She wanted to show Fleur how much she wanted her.

Hermione’s fingertips began moving over her body, just light touches, but it was like her skin was being stimulated everywhere. The sensations were barely there, so subtle that she might have thought she was imagining it if not for the focus in Fleur’s eyes, the tension in her features. She stopped moving her hands but the sensations continued.

Her heart pounded. Was this what she thought it was?

Taking a deep breath, Hermione spread her legs, adjusting until she was comfortable and sure that Fleur could see everything. At the other woman’s nod, she moved her hands down to her center. She had already been so close; she knew it wouldn’t take much longer.

She pushed two fingers inside and immediately warmth spread from her neck down over her breasts. It wasn’t a physical pressure exactly but the sensation was no longer subtle. And she knew now with absolute certainty that it was Fleur’s thrall. Not the allure but the second part of it, the magical manifestation of her desire. Hermione remembered that it could only be felt if the Veela liked her and wanted her to feel it.

Hermione pulled her fingers out and concentrated on her clit, quickening her pace when she saw Fleur’s hand press harder against the windowpane.

“Fleur,” she gasped.

With a loud crack, Fleur apparated beside the loveseat, standing over her. And she was so much more beautiful up close. While it was frustrating to yet again pull herself back from the edge, Hermione wanted to take her time to appreciate the woman. Taking deep breaths, the scent of her filled her nostrils, the thrall stronger now that she was within reach. She longed to take her breasts into her mouth, to bury herself in Fleur’s essence.

The blonde turned and waved her wand at Hermione’s windows. The blinds dropped and the curtains closed. Then she flicked her wand to turn on the lamp on the nightstand.

“And now you want privacy,” Hermione teased, her eyes adjusting to the light.

“I don’t want anyone else’s eyes on you, not tonight,” the blonde huffed.

She smirked at Fleur’s possessiveness. Raising an eyebrow, she began to move her hand again, sliding her fingers through her folds. Then she lightly circled her clit, slowly working herself back up.

Fleur dropped her wand and dropped to her knees at the same time, her eyes roaming all over Hermione’s body.

“Watch,” Hermione warned between heavy breaths, knowing Fleur would understand that she didn’t mean for her to stop touching her with her thrall; only to keep her hands to herself. She was torturing the Veela but it excited her to see Fleur desperate like this, her nipples hard, the muscles in her arms flexing as she clenched her fists to her side. Being able to deny her for just a little bit longer coiled the tension in her lower belly even tighter.

“D’accord, ‘Ermione,” Fleur answered, her voice low and strained. Hermione’s eyes widened at hearing her name. But of course, they were neighbors. The woman had watched her, too.

The thrall blanketed her. It felt hot and urgent. She could feel how aroused Fleur was. Their pleasure was co-mingling. Soon, sweat was forming on Fleur’s chest, her breathing quick. Hermione realized she wasn’t the only one hurtling towards a climax.

“Is it too much?” husked Fleur, nearly breathless. “I ‘aven’t ‘ad much practice.”

The brunette shook her head, too lost in the heat that engulfed her at learning that Fleur didn’t use her thrall like this very often.

Hermione wanted to savor it, but she couldn’t hold off any longer.

Crying out Fleur’s name, mind-numbing pleasure coursed through her, and it seemed to last forever thanks to the thrall’s caress, stroking over her clit and breasts now that she was too consumed by her orgasm to do it herself. She was surprised when she crested through a second peak, this one fully brought on by the thrall. Hearing a loud moan from Fleur, she glanced up to see her in the throes of her own orgasm, throwing her left hand onto the arm rest behind Hermione to brace herself.

It took them a few minutes to recover and catch their breaths. She thought she would feel embarrassed in the aftermath but instead she felt a bit smug at the hunger on Fleur’s face. They both knew they weren’t finished.

“Can I touch you now?” Fleur whispered, lifting herself up enough to place her hands on the arm rest on either side of Hermione’s head. She was trembling with the effort to restrain herself.

“Please,” begged Hermione. “Please touch me.”

Fleur leaned down to nuzzle into Hermione’s neck, peppering kisses until she licked just behind her ear. The brunette arched into her, whimpering at this first touch of the woman’s body against hers. So warm. So soft. She wrapped her arms around the woman’s back, trying to pull her down until there was no space between them but the Veela pulled back.

“Wait, I need to say something.” Fleur took several deep breaths before speaking again. “I’ve been watching you for a long time, ‘Ermione Granger. Imagine my surprise and utter delight to find you living next to me. Krum acted before I could but I always wondered what would ‘ave ‘appened if I’d been less shy back then.”

Hermione gasped at this revelation. She had thought the gorgeous Veela would have no reason to notice her awkward, teenage self back at Hogwarts. But she had, and had been too shy to approach her. Was that why Fleur had been so open after she moved in? Was Fleur trying to attract her attention all this time? She brought a hand to cup the woman’s cheek, touched and flattered.

“Fleur,” whispered Hermione. “Why do you think I even went out with Viktor?”

She watched blue eyes widen in realization.

“C’est vrai?” the Frenchwoman asked, her voice quiet and hopeful.

She nodded. “You were the first girl I ever liked, Fleur Delacour,” breathed Hermione.

At her words, Fleur smiled and nuzzled into the hand on her cheek.

“There is something else you should know, chérie. I want more than just this night. It is an unusual start, I know, but I can’t stop thinking about you. You are kind and beautiful and I want to learn more than what can be seen through a window. And once you are mine, ‘Ermione, I do not share. Not physically. Not you, not myself. What just ‘appened with that witch will not ‘appen again, not in that way at least and we can discuss and negotiate our boundaries of course, and I promise to never again surprise you with a new experience without speaking with you first… merde, je suis une épave. Let me start again. I believe exclusive is what you call it? Is that… something you want, too?

The younger witch melted at the gentle fierceness in Fleur’s rambling. The woman was confident in how she felt but nervous about Hermione’s response, and it all reminded her so much of herself. _She really is shy_ , she thought incredulously. _Well… shy in_ some _things._

Given the way she had felt Fleur’s thrall, she knew the woman felt an intense attraction towards her but she hadn’t expected the woman to feel what she felt, to want more, to want a relationship. A wave of tenderness washed over her, and Hermione moved her hands to softly rub circles on Fleur’s back to assure the woman that she indeed wanted the same thing.

“Well, I guess you better make me yours then,” Hermione finally replied, tangling her fingers in Fleur’s hair and pulling her into a kiss.

Fleur eagerly laid claim, the two quickly leaving the loveseat for the more comfortable bed. The blonde would later tell her how impressed she’d been when, even after she’d turned her lover into a boneless mass, the younger witch still had the stamina for more. And it drove her wild how the brunette had taken her time, asserting such control until the blonde writhed helplessly beneath her, until Fleur was the one ardently proclaiming for all to hear that she was Hermione’s.

When they finally let sleep take their spent bodies, Fleur curled around her like she was her greatest treasure.

*::::*

Hermione and Fleur soon settled into a happy, loving relationship, eventually moving in together after only a couple of months of dating. Since their windows were open all the time, and they were apparating back and forth between their flats as if they lived together anyway, they decided to make things easier and skip ahead to the inevitable.

The Frenchwoman effortlessly ingratiated herself with the brunette’s friends, and frequently enjoyed sharing an abridged version of how they fell in love by watching each other through their neighboring windows. But no matter how often Ginny and the others asked, no one could discover why the two women kept Fleur’s flat after the blonde moved into Hermione’s. They knew Hermione to be a very pragmatic woman, and while they also knew the Delacour clan heiress was wealthy enough to not be bothered by the cost, they still questioned them on the necessity of keeping an unoccupied living space.

They had a close call after Ginny and Harry surprised them one Saturday with an early morning visit. Hermione was very flustered when she answered the door and let them inside. And she was even more so after Ginny and Harry spotted two practically naked women across the way in the other flat’s kitchen reading the Daily Prophet and eating breakfast. The bookworm blushed and blustered through an excuse about potentially letting out the flat to renters, while Fleur suspiciously kept a very self-satisfied grin on her face, much to the exasperation of her girlfriend who was trying to keep their friends’ attention away from the windows. Ginny and Harry left the flat that day in a state of confusion. Well, Harry seemed confused. There may have been a knowing twinkle in Ginny’s eyes but Hermione would deal with that later. At the very least, Hermione was glad they were too distracted by what they had seen to notice Fleur’s spellwork in hiding certain accessories she and her adventurous girlfriend had forgotten to put away the night before. Very, very glad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stepped a bit out of my comfort zone on this one but that's what I love about writing. Challenging myself to try different things. I hoped you liked it. Thanks for reading.
> 
> merde, je suis une épave = shit, I’m a mess


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